Tabletop Romp
by LayAtHomeMom
Summary: In 1984, I went to the movies and fell in love with a boy kissing a girl over a birthday cake on a table. It's 2013 and that same boy is kissing me on a table...in my birthday suit. A Jake Ryanward O/S for Heather Maven's birthday.


**Rating M**

**Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyers owns all things Twilight **

**Special thank you to Planetblue, who beta'd this fun little fic.  
Thank you to Carrie ZM for the pre-read and the push.****  
Thank you my dear friends for all of your help and encouragement on this.**

****************************************************  
**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE:**  
**So, let's play make-believe and pretend that it was**  
**actually Edward (Masen) Cullen that played Jake Ryan**  
**in the 1984 hit Sixteen Candles and not M. Schoeffling.**  
**I'm not interested in dipping my foot into the RPF pool,**  
**so be a pal and play along. Okay?  
**************************************************

**This is a O/S I wrote for one of my fandom faves, Heather Maven on her birthday.**

**Ladies, I give you... Jake RyanWard**

* * *

"I'll take the tater tot and you take the Ice Queen," Esme stage whispers as we approach our newest clients.

"Deal," I say, sizing up Blondie through the glass doors.

The small fry spots us and rushes to open said doors for us.

"Welcome," she sing-songs, placing her hand over her heart as she introduces herself. "I'm Alice Brandon-Whitlock." She gums her lips, obviously getting chills just saying all three names, and I swear to God she holds for applause before turning to her counterpart. "And this is Rosalie McCarty."

"Call me Rose," Blondie corrects, giving Esme and I hearty handshakes and Alice Brandon-Whitlock a look that most definitely says 'take it down a notch'.

"I'm Esme and this is my business partner, Bella." Esme jumps in, leaving me there to smile and nod like an idiot. Although, I'm somewhat relieved that she plans to run this dog and pony show.

"Well," Alice Brandon-Whitlock slaps her hands on her thighs once the pleasantries have been exchanged. "Welcome to the future offices of Makeup Mavens." She dramatically waves her hands to present the large, white commercial space like a Price Is Right model during the Showcase Showdown.

I start taking measurements of the space as the Makeup Mavens talk about their rise in the cosmetic industry. From Clinique girls to bloggers to the shelves of Sephora, I must say their story is quite inspirational. Blondie, I mean Rose, is the brains behind the operation while Alice is the creative, which becomes apparent when she hands Esme a binder with some "ideas" and "sketches".

"I want it to be like a hotel," Alice explains. "I want everything about it to say 'come on in'."

"But don't stay." Rose finishes, side-eyeing Alice again.

Alice continues, seemingly fine with Rose's interpretation of her 'vision'. "I want it to say 'we're professional, but fun'."

"Like a tuxedo t-shirt." Rose adds and I can barely hold back my snort.

The ladies continue to throw out ideas at a rapid fire pace. For the reception and waiting area, Alice insists on soft lighting preferably from an oversize chandelier, an over the top feature wall, and 'acceptable looking, ergonomically correct' seating. She also requests that all materials be environmentally friendly and purchased through local merchants.

"We want to be a good neighbor," she explains proudly, like she's confessing to curing cancer and handing both of us a list of local business owners.

"That sounds wonderful and all very do-able." Esme assures them, skimming her notes and turning over a fresh sheet of paper. "Alice, let's go ahead and look at your office space, so I can get a feel for what you are looking for."

Alice immediately links her arm with Esme's and leads her down the hallway, chatting animatedly about ambience and clean lines. Poor Esme looks back at me like Sean Penn in Dead Man Walking. I almost feel guilty for cheesing at her and giving her a big thumbs-up. I'm certain if Alice didn't have her arm in her kung-fu grip, Esme would give me the finger.

Once they are out of sight, Rose turns to me and directs me down another hallway. "She's excitable but very well-meaning." She gives me an apologetic smile as she turns into a large open room. "This will be the conference room, we'd like a table to comfortably seat twelve-"

"Acceptable looking and ergonomically correct seating, right?"

We laugh and Rosalie crosses her arms across her chest and closes the distance between us. "Honestly Bella, I could care less about the design or the ambience. I'm really only concerned with two things." She holds up two fingers. "One, the bottom line obviously, since I am on the business end of the operation." She ticks off a perfectly manicured digit. "And two, between you and me I'd like you to make sure that my desk and the conference room desk is _extra," _she comes closer._ "Extra_ sturdy."

I can't tell if I'm being propositioned or if she is telling me that she and the mister like to get weird in the office, so I smile broadly. "Sure thing, extra sturdy."

My poker face must be horrible, because she smirks and shakes her head slightly before directing me to her personal office to discuss Alice's vision for the space. The weirdness subsides and I find I quite enjoy Rose in spite of her predilection for durable surfaces in a shared workroom.

The meeting concludes with each of us exchanging any and all available contact information. Just as Esme and I head out the door, Rose calls me back and hands me a business card.

"This guy," she point's at the card. "He built my husband's office furniture. Use him."

"You got it!" I tell her, turning the card over in my hand.

_E. M. Cullen_

_Cullen Custom Furniture_

_Handcrafting Furniture Designs Since 1994  
_

* * *

"I didn't know you were going to be home." I say to my roommate Angela, locking the door behind me. She's sitting on our couch clad only in a t-shirt and panties, eating a 7-11 Slurpee. "Is it pants off time already?"

She rolls her eyes and takes a loud sip from her cold beverage of choice.

"Where's Ben?"

"Fuck Ben." She holds up a Slurpee for me. "Come eat my feelings with me."

I sprawl out on the couch and start shoveling the syrupy goodness in my mouth.

"Take your bra off, stay awhile." She knows me too well. "Wanna watch Boardwalk Empire?"

"Angela, I don't know why you are so interested in seeing Steve Buscemi get busy." I want to vomit at the thought. "I don't even understand why you have us pay to watch that shit on TV."

"Bella, for the last time, it's not TV… It's HBO." She dots each letter with a jab of her spoon straw in my direction. "And let the record show that Steve Buscemi is attractive _because_ of his powerful presence, _not_ his appearance."

"Jesus, crazy doesn't take a day off, does it?" I motion for her to give me the remote control, which she slaps in my hand begrudgingly. I flip through the channels until I see that one of my favorite movies of all time is on. "Oh my God! I love this movie." I literally sigh at the sight of Jake Ryan as he leans against his Porsche. "I wonder if Molly Ringwald's ovaries exploded on impact when his lips touched hers."

"This movie is total bullshit," Angela rants, jabbing her finger at the television. "John Hughes did womankind a huge disservice." I fire off a quick sign of the cross at her, absolutely flabbergasted at her accusation. "There is no way a fucking 10 like that would give the big boot to a solid 9, to jump right into a committed relationship with a 5."

She sits back smug and shoves her spoon straw deep in her mouth and pulls it out slow with a loud satisfying pop.

"Okay. Wow. I'm pretty sure you are going to hell for speaking ill of John Hughes, may God rest his soul. And two," I start before I'm rudely interrupted.

"Unless. And this is a huge unless, mind you. The only plausible way this could happen in real life is if the 5 in question has huge amounts of money and/or does anal."

I shake my head. "You're unbelievable. She is not a 5, she is a solid 8. I'd say an 8.5 if you factor in her snarky disposition and keen fashion sense."

"I will go no higher than 7.2 based on your argument, and that is only because she gave the nerd herd her panties."

We watch with rapt fascination as he wishes her happy birthday and kisses her over the candlelit cake. "I want one." I sigh dreamily and my friend snorts. "I'm serious. Where's my Jake Ryan?"

"I don't know," she says kicking her feet out on the coffee table. "But that dude is likely a dinosaur by now." I flip her off. "Speaking of aging gracefully, what are we doing for your birthday next month?"

I shrug, staring blankly at the credits as the name of the actor who plays Jake Ryan pops up on the screen. _Edward Masen_.

"Is there _anything_ you want for your birthday?" she asks, somehow still surprised that I hate birthdays even after years of knowing me.

"Yeah, I want an Edward Masen."

"Right…" She stretches out the word. "So, an iTunes gift card then?"

* * *

"Sounds great, I'll be there at two o'clock." I say into the phone, scribbling down my appointment time. "Yep, buh-bye."

"You were on the phone for-ev-er" Esme sits on the corner of my desk with her arms folded across her chest like I was purposely ignoring her.

"Uh, yeah. That's what happens when you are trying to schedule an appointment with fucking Father Time."

"Rough night, doll? Ya' got a case of the Mondays?"

"I was up late. So listen, we have reservations at Aro's at noon, then I have to haul ass across town to get to Cullen's by two."

"And while you are having fun with the elderly wood worker, I will have Alice in my office going through each and every paint swatch and fabric sample in the storeroom."

"Well good luck with that," I concede, almost feeling sorry for her. _Almost. _"While I'm thinking about it, I need the sketches, the list of acceptable materials and preferred stain sample sections of her informational binder."

* * *

"Hello, my dear," Father Time extends his withered hand. "You must be Bella."

"Yes, Mr. Cullen, it's a pleasure to meet you."

His laugh is as gentle as his handshake. "You have me mistaken for Edward. I'm Mike."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just…assumed."

"No worries, my wife will get a kick out of it." He pats the back of my hand. "I'll let him know you're here." He hobbles back to a set of doors before yelling over his shoulder. "Feel free to take a look around."

Walking through the showroom, it becomes apparent why Rose selected this particular vendor. Each piece of furniture is beautiful and refreshingly unique. I'm pleasantly surprised that they offer everything from modern to antique, simple to ornate. Hopefully their products are well made or as Rose likes to call it, "sturdy". I spot a large farmhouse table near the back that looks to be about the size of the conference room table they're requesting. I nudge the legs a bit, trying to see if it shakes when I bump it and it doesn't move. It's all one piece so there is no support in the middle, which may be a problem considering the afterhours activities my client has in mind for this particular piece. Ever the thorough one, I plop my ass right up on the middle of the table and bounce a bit to listen for creaks or cracks.

I hear a chuckle from behind me. "Well, I've never seen anyone test the furniture like that before."

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!" I apologize as I try to slide off the table quickly, yet gracefully. "I was just-"

"No, no, it's fine," The deep voice interrupts, coming closer. "I'm confident that it's solid." I feel him slip onto the table with me, and I turn towards the voice. "Hi, there."

It's him. It's Edward Masen or should I say Edward Cullen, AKA Jake Ryan. He's smiling and sitting there, on a table…with me.

* * *

I don't know how I manage, but it takes every ounce of professionalism in me to not scream that I've been in love with him since 1984 and /or whip out my boob and ask him to sign. Our meeting commences on that table as we review the sketches and discuss their preferences.

He shuts the binder and hops off the table. "Alright, let's head on back and I'll show you some wood," He sees my eyes go wide and he smirks before continuing. "Samples."

I follow him back to his work area trying to play it cool, meanwhile my ovaries are having a Game of Thrones style battle for who gets to be the one to deliver the egg that will receive his seed.

He's still as handsome as ever. A little older in the face and now his perfect jaw is peppered with stubble. His hair is a little shorter, and still a bit messy, but begs to have fingers run through it. He's taller than I pictured, a little stockier too. This guy just exudes cool in his button down with the rolled up sleeves and slung just-so jeans_. Lord, please give me the strength not to accidentally hump him._

"Have a seat," he says, pulling out a chair for me and catching me eyeballing his jeans. "Unless you prefer to sit on top of the desk."

"A chair will be fine."

He sits close to me as he shows me his wood. I stare at his mouth and try not to lick him when he says words like 'thickness' and 'length' and 'penetrating finish'.

"Go ahead and run your fingers over it," he encourages, handing me a sample.

"It's so smooth and shiny," I blurt before I measure my words. "I mean, it's… nice." I manage to stop myself from adding 'and hard too'.

We go back and forth weighing the pros and cons of each before narrowing it down to two.

"So which one?"

"My client's only stipulation is that the table is _sturdy_, hence the table sitting episode out there."

He laughs and crosses his arms over his chest. "She gave me your card and told me you built her husband's office furniture."

"What's her husband's name?"

I shrug. "I'm not sure, but her last name is McCarty if that helps."

He laughs even harder and points to one of the samples. "Let's go with this one then, it can handle a hell of a lot more weight than the other."

I bite my lip, wondering if he was also made privy to their workplace trysts.

We exchange numbers and he tells me he'll call in the next couple of days once he gets his sketches and figures put together.

"I look forward to working with you, Mr. Cullen," I beam, offering my hand.

"Edward," he says, taking my hand in his. "Please call me Edward." I want to melt when he keeps a hold of it for a little longer than necessary. "I'm excited to work with you as well, Bella."

* * *

I burst through Esme's office door like a SWAT team. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! It's him, Esme! It's him!"

Alice and Esme stare back at me from the floor, surrounded by a mound of swatches and sample books.

"Oh, hey Alice," I try to take the enthusiasm down a notch. "Find anything you like?"

"It's who?" Esme interrupts, quirking a brow at me.

"No one," I back-peddle both figuratively and literally out of her office making the 'call me' gesture.

I'm almost to my office when I hear Alice call me back to Esme's.

"Yes," I ask, fully expecting her to insist I dish, but she doesn't even look up from meticulously studying a book of fabric wallpaper samples.

She begins lining up swatches. "Which do you like the best?"

Thank goodness for her one track mind. It's at that moment that I decide to keep Jake Ryan's identity, I mean Edward's identify, all to myself.

* * *

I'm pleasantly surprised when Edward calls bright and early Wednesday morning to see if we can meet or if he can drop off the sketches and go over some of the figures with me. My day is completely full, so I tell him I'll swing by around five o'clock to pick them up. Naturally, the day drags, punishing me with each hour-long minute.

Pulling into his parking lot, I have to take a deep breath and give myself a once over in the rear view mirror.

"Okay, Bella. Let's keep it together today. Contain the crazy." I say, having a variation of a Stuart Smalley moment with my reflection.

The bell rings over the door, seemingly waking Mr. Newton from his early evening nap.

"Go on back, he's been expecting you," he says with a grin.

Stepping through the double doors, I hear Bon Jovi crooning about how he "didn't mean to miss your birthday, baby" and I see Edward bent over a desk, making sure the surface is level from all angles. He's singing along, and I swear to God my boobs start producing milk for his unborn babies.

Thankfully, he doesn't see me, because I'm fairly certain that I'm leering at him lasciviously. I eye him up and down from his fitted white tee to his dark wash jeans, before zeroing in on the tool-belt hanging low on his hips. Truly, I'm one lip lick away from either being on the local sex offender list or LL Cool J. I prefer the latter with regards to lip licking.

"Uh, hey," I try for casual, missing the mark completely.

"Hey," he says, pulling it off far better as he strides over to turn down the music. "Sorry 'bout that."

"It's no problem. I love Bon Jovi. They're great!" I internally roll my eyes at how pathetic I sound, going all fucking Tony the Tiger on him.

"Come on," He waves me over to join him at his drafting table and I inwardly squeal when he places his hand to my lower back while pushing me closer to the sketches. He stands behind me, looking over my shoulder as I flip through the drawings and we discuss the details, cracking jokes here and there. We inch closer and closer through our conversation until the nearness feels comfortable and the once accidental brushing of fingers feels intentional.

I should be carefully looking over the sketches. Instead, I find myself studying his large hands and fingers, taking in the tough, calloused skin and mentally measuring each individual finger's length and thickness. Shamefully, my thighs clench and my lady-bits shiver at the thought of what those deliciously, dexterous digits can do.

"These look fantastic, Edward!" I say excitedly, turning to face him only to find him closer than expected. My eyes look to his which are fixed firmly to my mouth.

"Thanks," he whispers, lowering his face to mine.

Professionalism be damned, I think to myself, as I close my eyes and part my lips. I feel the rough pad of his thumb brush my cheek and the tips of his fingers just beneath my chin, lifting it slightly and setting my entire body on fire.

Our noses touch briefly just as our lips are about to meet.

"I'm headed out for the night, Ed," Old Man River shouts from the doorway, looking somewhat surprised to see me. "Oh, I'm sorry Miss. I didn't know you were still here."

_Of course I'm still here you half-wit, did you think I climbed out the window or slid down a drainpipe?_

The moment is gone as Edward releases my face and steps back a few feet.

"Goodnight Mike," he says with a wave. "I'll see ya' tomorrow, pal."

Edward scrubs his hand over his forehead nervously, keeping his eyes shut and refusing to look in my direction. It's like I went from kissable to Medusa in a nanosecond. _Not cool._

"I'll walk out with you!" I yell a little louder towards Mike while gathering the papers. "I'll be in touch, Edward," I call over my shoulder as I try to catch up with the cockblocking old codger.

"Bella, wait!" I hear his footsteps as he pushes through the double doors.

"I'll talk to the clients tomorrow and give you a call then." I say as Mike holds the door open for me. Trying to maintain the last shred of professional dignity that I have, I end the meeting on a friendly note. "Thanks for everything, guys!

I'm almost certain that I hear the tires squeal as I peel out of the parking lot, no doubt looking exactly like Cruella Deville and driving like a maniac. _Stupid, stupid, stupid Bella._ Though I can't decide what I'm more stupid for. For taking the personal and professional risks for a kiss or bailing like a total pussy. Either way, it's not a good look for me.

From here on out, it's strictly business between myself and Mr. Cullen.

* * *

On Thursday, I go over the sketches and pricing with Alice and Rose. Thankfully, they're thrilled with his proposals and sign the authorization for him to begin. Part of me wants to wait until afterhours to call, so I can leave the message on his business voicemail. And the other part of me, the one with an actual spine, intends to call him immediately when I get back to the office.

I pick up the phone at least five times before I actually get the balls to dial. I'm praying that Mike picks up and that he will relay the message for me. No such luck as I hear Edward's gravelly voice on the line.

"Hey, it's Bella," I greet him, laying the cheery on a bit thick. "Just wanted to let you know that the clients signed off on your designs and proposal, so you can go ahead and start."

"Bella," he says quietly, but I talk over him.

"I'm going to go ahead and fax over the authorization to you right now, okay?"

"Bella," he tries to get my attention a little more firmly this time. "I wanted to apologize. For yesterday. I was… out of line and unprofessional."

"It's fine," I whisper, a little sad that he's sorry. "I probably wasn't particularly helpful, being so willing."

"I'll make sure to keep it professional from here on out."

"Me too," I agree, even though I want to be anything but professional with him.

* * *

The next few weeks pass slowly without seeing or speaking to Edward. He sends me a few emails a week, letting me know the progress on the pieces and sharing pictures here and there. He's strictly business and totally professional. Meanwhile I am $13.67 deep into Energizer, because I need my Bunny to keep going and going and going with all the pervy and questionable thoughts I have of him in my head.

Cobra Starships "Hot Mess" blares from my iPhone and a drunken picture of Angela pops up on my screen.

"Hey Ang," I sigh into the phone, unable to hide my Edward-induced, sour disposition.

"WOOOOOO HOOOOO! Hey, hey, hey, birthday girl!" she yells into the phone.

"It's not my birthday yet ya' lush." I cradle the phone between my shoulder and my face to pour myself another glass of wine.

"Come out with me!"

"Mm, nah,"

"Come on! You're such a buzzkill!"

"Insult me. That seems like a good way to get me to do your bidding."

"Fine, I'll buy your drinks."

"Now, you're talking. Where you at?"

"Cavill's. It's karaoke night. It's gonna be so much fun!"

I hesitate slightly, because I know that bar is right around the block from Cullen Customs, but the half bottle of wine I consumed tells me to say 'fuck it', so I do.

* * *

Two more glasses of wine, a shaved who-ha, and a matching set of bra and panties later, the cab drops me off at the bar.

"BELLA!" Ang and her coworker Jess scream at the top of their lungs, alerting everyone in the bar to my presence. They're both pretty well half in the bag, so I'm not in the least bit surprised by her next sentence. "Let's do shots!"

Clearly I'm far too sensitive to peer-pressure, because the next thing I know I'm up on stage belting out Bon Jovi's "I'll Be There for You" and embarrassing the shit out of myself. Naturally, Ang is standing in front of the stage inappropriately dancing - "Pour Some Sugar on Me"- style to my power ballad and screaming 'encore' once I've finished. All the while Jess is making out with a random guy in a booth.

I head to the bathroom after my stellar performance, needing to take five before my next number, when I hear someone start the slow clap as I walk by. I turn towards the clapping, only to find Edward sitting at a table with a friend.

"You were great up there," he says, motioning for me to sit next to him.

"Really?" My voice sounds disgustingly sweet, and I instantly regret asking for the validation.

"Yeah, I especially liked the air guitar solo," his friend pipes in before adding, "You really committed there, dropping the mic and plugging in the amp and all that."

"Em," Edward groans, giving his friend the 'not cool' look.

"Hi, I'm Emmett," my number one fan says, extending his gargantuan hand.

"Sorry about that, Bella this is Emmett McCarty, Em, this is Be-lla," he draws out my name and I see him in my periphery giving his friend a look.

"Ahh, Be-lla!" I may be drunk, but I swear his eyebrows wag. "My wife adores you."

It takes way longer than it should for my brain to connect the dots, but when I do, I immediately regret the words that tumble out of my mouth.

"You're Rose's husband!" I shout a little louder than intended. I can't seem to stop myself from adding, "Jesus, you really do require a sturdy surface, don't you?"

I swear I hear a jukebox scratch somewhere because the table is silent for a few beats before Emmett starts laughing. Edward joins in while I sit there awkwardly, chuckling uncomfortably.

"I like this one, Ed." He jerks his chin at me. "I'm gonna head out, leave you kids to talk," he says, standing. "I'll make sure to tell Rose I met you finally."

"Goodnight, Em," Edward says and we wave our goodbyes.

As he walks away, I notice Ben is practically carrying Angela out the door and Jess is no longer in the booth or at the bar.

"So…" he starts. "How've you been?"

We make small talk for a bit, going back and forth about work. He thanks me for sending the Clearwaters his way, to which I let him know that I've passed his card to quite a few clients.

We order a few more drinks, as he tells me about Mike and how he used to own the business before Edward bought him out shortly after he moved back to town.

I'm dying to ask some crazy questions about his life in Hollywood, but since he hasn't brought it up, I think that may be frowned upon.

"So what are you out celebrating?"

"It's my birthday tomorrow," I tell him, embarrassed. "Angela wanted to get the party started early I guess."

He nods and raises his glass. "Well happy early birthday, then."

We clink glasses and I chug the last of my water. Something about not realizing I did an air guitar solo makes me think that I should probably ease up on the booze.

After another hour or so of talking, making fun of people singing and a few casual touches here and there, Edward plays the gentleman card.

"Let me call you a cab," he says, pulling out his phone.

"Ugh. I don't want to go home, yet." I pout, noticing we are the last two people in the bar and the bouncers are starting to put the chairs on top of the tables. _Tables_. "Hey, have you finished the pieces yet?"

He nods slowly, staring at my lips again.

"Show me," I beg, clutching his arm. "I want to see them!"

"Yeah?" He inches closer. "We can go see them if you want."

Feeling brazen, I lean into him. "I want."

* * *

His hand never leaves the small of my back as we walk to his shop. That could mean two things, either he is supporting me because I'm having difficulty staying upright, or it's because I'm irresistible and he can't keep his hands off me. Both are plausible I suppose.

We slip in the back and he takes my hand, guiding me through the moonlit workshop and leading me to a large panel of lights. I stop him when he reaches for the switches.

"Don't," I say softly and tighten my grip on his hand, no longer making any pretense as to why I'm here. I wet my lips before whispering a breathless plea. "Kiss me."

He stills slightly with his eyes locked fiercely on my mouth.

"Kiss me," I repeat more firmly, clutching the bottom of his shirt and pulling him closer until my lips linger a hairsbreadth from his.

Our kiss begins tenderly at first. Teasing and testing, tentatively touching lips and then tongues.

As the kiss turns hungry and heated, our once hesitant hands no longer hold still. He grips the back of my neck, kissing me deeply as he backs me up until I feel the knobs of the workbench drawers digging into my skin.

"Fuck Bella," he pants against my parted lips and grinds his lower half into me. "What are we doing?"

"I have no idea," I rasp, closing my eyes as his mouth latches on to my neck, nipping it softly. "But don't stop."

His mouth captures mine again, and I lose myself in his kiss while his hands knead my breasts roughly, sweeping the pads of his calloused thumbs over the fabric covering my straining nipples. I lean into his touch, shoving my fingers into his hair and tightening my grip.

I want more. I need him closer. I ache to feel him against me, skin to skin, completely bare.

"Unzip me," I say, turning and lifting my hair.

He complies quickly, and I feel his tongue trailing the pull of the zipper as he lowers it down my spine.

Turning back towards him, I slowly drop my dress to the floor. My bra and panties immediately follow.

"Beautiful," he breathes, his eyes raking over my naked body bathed in the moonlight.

It's his turn. I watch as he pulls his shirt over his head and unfastens his belt buckle, sliding his pants down his legs. He stalks towards me, crashing his lips against mine, lifting me onto the workbench.

"Touch me," I beg desperately. His hands ghost up my back and down my front, cupping my bare breasts. "Lower," I whisper, leaning back, opening my legs wide in welcome.

He wets his lips as his fingertips skim down my ribs, across my stomach and disappears between my legs.

"You don't know how many times I've thought about you just like this," he rasps, skimming his tongue across my collarbone and down my chest before greedily sucking a nipple into his mouth.

"How?" I ask, egging him on, wanting his words.

"Naked." He pinches the other tip with his fingers. "Spread." He grazes it with his teeth and tugs with his eyes boring into mine. "And wet." He flicks his tongue rapidly over the peak. "All for me." He gently blows air, watching the flesh instantly pebble.

I close my eyes as his hands work me over above and below my waist. Twisting and tweaking, pinching and pulling above, while sliding in, circling, and plunging below. His mouth meets mine to collect his earned groans, gasps and grunts as his fingers move faster and I get closer.

"Where?" I ask, feeling him hard and thick, twitching slightly against my leg. "Where have you thought about taking me, Edward?" I clarify, reaching down to rub his length, tracing the straining veins, and swiping my thumb over his tip. Feeling bold, I elaborate further against his lips. "Where do you want to fuck me tonight?"

He moans, pressing himself into my hand. "I want you on the table," he grits out roughly. I jerk him faster, encouraging his words. "Bent over." He runs his tongue down my jaw. "Pinned under." He sucks my bottom lip hard, releasing it with a pop. "Buried inside of you." He does the same to my top lip. "Hard and fast."

"Yessss," I hiss when pulls me off the workbench and carries me over to the table.

He props me up and pushes me down until my back meets the smooth surface of the wood. Gripping me behind the knees, he drags me down the table until my ass is hanging off the end and my ankles are comfortably resting on his shoulders. He licks his lips, watching as he slides his shaft over me.

Edward looks at me, questioning if he can continue, needing the go ahead. I nod my consent and brace myself. His eyes are hungry and crazed, it's like he is warning me, letting me know this is going to be anything but gentle.

He dips the tip, and drives in deep, burying himself just like he wanted. My back arches off the table, meeting his every movement, thrust for greedy thrust. I feel his hands running up my ribcage, barely brushing my breasts and up my arms as he pins me to the table. His lips are at my ear in an instant.

"Just like this," he grits out through clenched teeth.

Somewhere between the kisses and caresses, I realize that the boy from the movie that I've been lusting over for years will never be more perfect than the man inside of me right now.

My hips raise and roll as he rocks and rams roughly against me. His mouth covers mine, claiming and consuming, concealing my cries for more. His stomach muscles flex as he continues, forceful and frantic. I hear him grunt, slamming into me before he releases my hands and pulls me from the table.

He spins me around, facing me forward.

"Get on your knees, baby," he instructs, biting down gently on my bare shoulder. I start to slink to the ground. "On the table, Bella," he amends before adding. "I want to fuck you from behind on the table."

Without hesitation, I climb to the middle of the table, and remain on all fours. I should feel guilty for sullying my clients furniture, but when I look behind me at Edward from beneath my lashes, I'm only sorry for not being sorry. I'll just call this quality assurance.

"Perfect," I hear him murmur quietly. I feel his hands on my ass, rubbing soft circles over my cheeks, before slapping one softly.

He enters me swiftly, assuming command once again. Figuratively, he takes the reins as he gathers my hair and tugs in time with his impatient pounding. My back bows and my breasts drag against the wood. Grunting, his grip tightens, digging into the skin of my hip. The coil constricts, threatening to spring with each stroke. I squeeze him from the inside out and scream as I find my release while he brutally bucks and bangs me from behind until I feel him twitch before stilling deep within me.

We collapse together. Our chests heaving and our bodies are slick with sweat. I feel spent and sated as he rolls off of me.

"So good," he pants.

I rest my head on his chest and we remain motionless and quiet for a long while. I can't resist skimming my fingertips over the lines of his stomach and chest. I don't do well with silence. I always seem to put my foot in my mouth and now is no exception.

"You seem to have a thing for tables," I joke, though when I feel him tense beside me I realize it's hardly funny to him.

His eyes are no longer pleasure-laden, instead they look wary.

"What are you talking about?" He questions, his brow arching, waiting for me to confirm his suspicions

"You know," I narrow my eyes and smirk, unsure why this is such a secret. "You're him. You're Edward Masen." His expression hardens as I speak the next words. "You played Jake Ryan."

An awkward silence ensues for a few minutes. He doesn't move to get up, but I can tell he's uncomfortable, dragging his hands through his hair, pulling at the ends.

"You knew?" He asks, but it comes out sounding like an accusation. "You knew all along?"

"Uh… Yeah!" I say loudly, my voice laced with a hint of 'duh'. "You think a little stubble is going to disguise who you are?" He rolls his eyes and I'm relieved to see a small smirk on his lips. "You'd have to go full on Duck Dynasty beard, and even then, I would've still known it's you."

He grumbles and mutters under his breath.

"Why does it matter?" I ask quietly.

He looks at me confused. "Doesn't it?"

I shake my head, because honestly it doesn't. "Not really. I mean, sure it's cool, but," I shrug, preparing myself for the brutal rebuff. "I like _you_." I bite my lip. "You're, uh… you're better than the fantasy, you know?"

"Yeah?" He asks, his smirk growing into a gorgeous crooked smile, and I swear if his dick had hands, he'd give it a high five.

We resume our cuddling; his arms hold me tighter and every now and again he kisses the top of my head gently.

"Can I ask just one question?" I feel him nod. "What's with the Masen?"

I feel his chest rumble with laughter. "Masen is my middle name. My agent said I should use a stage name, just in case the acting thing didn't work out."

"Gotcha," I say, continuing my exploration of his abdominal muscles.

"It's after midnight you know," he whispers against my temple.

"It is, isn't it?"

"You know what that means don't you?" He asks, tilting my chin and skimming his nose down my cheek as his lips close in on mine. "Happy Birthday, baby."

* * *

**A/N: Happy Birthday, Heather Maven! I absolutely adore you my friend and I hope you had the most wonderful day!**

**If your interested in more of our Triangle of Curls Girls love, go check out a couple more stories written for Heather's b-day:**

**Taming Bella - a Collab by CullensTwiMistress and Maplestyle - A hairy situation puts Bella in an awkward position. A birthday present for Heather Maven from two of her triangle of curls girls. Collab between CullensTwiMistress and Maplestyle. BxE; Humor/Romance; AH.**

**The Party by Compass54 - Bored Edward meets refreshingly honest Bella. A frustrating day of moving house turns into a night at a birthday party, where bare chests, ouzo and strippers become a recipe for falling in love - a short bit of fluff as a birthday present for Heather Maven. E&B AH Humor/Romance Rated M**

**Thanks so much for reading!**


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